


A Ridiculous, Smutty Johnlock Fanfiction.

by chimmiesam



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottom John, Fluff and Smut, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, NSFW, Other, Ridiculous, Top Sherlock, Video Cameras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimmiesam/pseuds/chimmiesam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock glanced at John, longingly. John quickly looked away, but glanced back when he thought Sherlock wasn't looking. The air thickened with sexual tension. Sherlock slowly bent down without bending his knees, making sure to give John a show. John gulped.  Lestrade was very uncomfortable.</p>
<p>A ridiculous tale of John and Sherlock's first sexual experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ridiculous, Smutty Johnlock Fanfiction.

Sherlock glanced at John, longingly. John quickly looked away, but glanced back when he thought Sherlock wasn’t looking. The air thickened with sexual tension. Sherlock slowly bent down without bending his knees, making sure to give John a show. John gulped. Lestrade was very uncomfortable. Sherlock sniffed the dead body before him. He could smell the distinct, horrid scents only found in combination at a train station. The young man was approximately 22 years old, a student of the local college, and was obviously an athlete—a track star. He was found with a single bullet wound to the head. His early death was truly a tragedy. Sherlock inhaled deeply. Not only could he smell the slight traces of gun powder, specifically to a Pistol, Revolver, Webley No. 1 Mk VI, but could also smell John’s conflicting sexual emotions and his slipping heterosexuality. Sherlock glances at John again, licking his lips. John turns away, blushing as he checks the body for rigor mortis. 

“Oh John”, Sherlock thought to himself as he worked out the killer’s panicked efforts to dispose of the gun, “you should check inside my pants for rigor mortis”.  
John gave Sherlock another sideways glance, trying to remind himself he was only into women. He tried to imagine Sherlock as a woman; the image frightened him, and with a shudder, immediately discarded the picture from his mind. 

John estimated that the time of death was 10 hours ago. He also estimated that Sherlock was standing closer to him than he was before. What John didn’t and couldn't estimate was that soon his heterosexuality would be murdered, time of death— 30 minutes from now.  
Sherlock was now standing so close both their arms were touching. John suppressed a shudder of confused desire, and managed to tell Lestrade, who wore a pained expression, what he established from the body. Sherlock then suddenly, headed for the door. 

“Come John, we need to investigate this further”. He stops in the doorway and gives John a quick wink and smirk. “The Game is On”. The Game is SO turned on, John.  
John releases a fluttered breath, feeling a tingling of excitement all over. Lestrade dies a little inside. John leaves the room, right behind Sherlock, leaving Lestrade and the forensics team to give side-ways glances at each other and wallow in the perfume of murder and pheromones. 

John and Sherlock ride home in silence. Once they enter the flat, Sherlock asks John to call Lestrade and hand him the phone. John does, and Sherlock informs Lestrade that the roommate did it. If they looked in the victim’s downtown, storage locker they would find all the evidence they need. 

“I thought we were still investigating,” John asks, half-disappointed.

Sherlock looks predatorily down at John. “We are, John. We are investigating this”!  
Sherlock suddenly strikes. Pulling John in a tight embrace, Sherlock firmly presses his lips to John’s. After a few moments, they part slightly, looking deeply into each other’s eyes. John’s heart pounds in his ears, he can feel the blush slowly envelope his features. John looks deep into Sherlock’s clear, blue eyes, he can see his own flustered reflection looking back at him. 

“Fuck it,” John sharply whispers before pulling Sherlock by his collar into a rough kiss. The preverbal knife of homosexual desire plunges into John’s heterosexuality like the metaphorical dick of Sherlock plunging into John’s hypothetical ass. This metaphor will soon be lively demonstrated as Sherlock and John roughly tear clothing off each other as they passionately kiss.

Unknowingly by John or Sherlock, Mycroft had just recently installed hidden cameras within the flat just a few hours prior. He had done this before, but couldn’t quite remember why he took out the cameras the last time. Alone in his office, Mycroft turned on his laptop and clicked on one of the live feed networks from one of the various cameras in the flat. John’s right butt cheek streaks across Mycroft’s laptop screen, the feed was coming from one of the cameras embedded into the countertop. John loudly moaned Sherlock’s name, and Mycroft quickly closed his laptop. He remembered why he took out the cameras last time. With a blank expression, he stood up, smoothed over his coat and calmly walked out of his furnished office. He needed cake right now. 

Unknowingly to Mycroft, Moriarty—gearing up for his fun games with the consulting detective—had tapped into the various live feeds of Sherlock’s flat. He was enjoying the show when it suddenly dawned on him that he recognized that butt cheek. 

John was now sprawled on the couch, Sherlock working diligently between his legs to suck every delicious moan out of John. Suddenly Sherlock’s phone receives a text message. Sherlock tries to ignore it, when he receives another. Finally, with a frustrated growl, Sherlock releases John with a wet pop and checks his phone.

The first message read: It’s nice to see John so excited again- M

The second: John was so cute in medical school- M.

Sherlock’s stomach drops. John senses the sudden change of mood and lifts himself upright onto the couch. Sherlock immediately stands up, suddenly, frightfully aware of all the little cameras scattered throughout the flat, embedded in the walls, bookcase, and furniture. 

“John we need to leave, get dressed quickly,” he dryly states.

Another message: Ask him or else- M  
Sherlock glares at the many eyes surrounding him, he thinks about bolting for the door, but knows by now it’s far too late. “John,” Sherlock sighs, “have you, have you done this kind of thing with anyone else?”

John seems taken back by the question. He doesn’t think so. John racks his brain for any other time he might have touched a man. He was sure he had only felt this way for Sherlock alone, when suddenly a foggy memory from his college days rises from the bog of his past. John nervously licks his lips. “There…there was this one time at a party. I don’t remember much, I was very drunk,” John hoarsely whispers as he stares at his hands.

Sherlock’s phone chimes in: We both know that’s not quite true- M

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this and want me to continue this ridiculous story, leave a comment below. If you didn't like this, I'm sorry but don't leave a comment. Just hate me in silence like adults do.


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